CHAPTER IX
HUMAN NATURE
I have often been asked how I managed to endure the boredom of captivity, and few people believe me when I answer that, far from being dull, it was a period full of fascination. The camp in time became like a great university, there was scarcely a subject that was not studied, and on which you could not inform yourself, through the books the Red Cross sent us. And then there was the spectacle of the Siberian seasons. We were said to be living three or four thousand feet up, and rain only fell on forty days in the year. In that dry, crisp mountain air our senses acquired a keener edge of enjoyment, and life a sparkle it never had before. The year was a succession of delightful surprises. In winter the sun shone, as it seemed, with passion all day long in a sky of cloudless and radiant blue. Through some rare quality in the atmosphere the whole western horizon at sunset glowed one rich and lively red—a daily spectacle which alone made life in Siberia worth while. The nights were even more wonderful; the stars were so much brighter than at home that it seemed as if we had never known them before; and on moonlit nights the landscape with its impressive contrast between the broad, glistening snowfields and the sombre precipices rising above the river, was almost sublime. Spring came; the camp was smothered in white blossom, and the hills were purple with autumn crocus and rhododendron. Never again can spring be so intoxicating as in that year; life, which had been dammed up by the gloom and horrors of winter, suddenly raced along like a cataract. In summer we heard the cuckoo calling from the woods all day, and in the evening we enjoyed a rare luxury. At sunset a chill north wind set in, chasing away the almost intolerable heat of the afternoon, and bringing from the forest scents of birch, bracken, and strange aromatic shrubs. These evenings were the climax of the year. Then, with dramatic suddenness, came autumn; forest and field turned a brilliant yellow (there are no dull colours in those hills; everything strikes vivid and sharp). As suddenly autumn disappeared; as if by magic the trees were leafless and the corn gathered in, and the desolation of winter had begun. We lived a double life, enjoying this feast of the senses, while within us changes were going on which only gradually became apparent. Men not yet thirty began to grow grey, while those approaching middle age began to look like old men.
GERMAN PROPAGANDA
At Stretensk, too, there were concentrated representatives of all the races at war from Hamburg to Baghdad, and merely to live with them was a political education. First of all, there were the Russians. With the common soldier we were on the best of terms. This brought us several advantages, but to the Russians only harm. The prisoners of war exercised a steady corrupting influence. Many a Russian soldier left Stretensk for the front provided with letters recommending him, in case of capture, to mercy and good usage, because he had treated the Germans or Austrians decently. Our men used to spin the Russians wonderful yarns of what a paradise Germany was for prisoners of war. They did their best to terrify their guards by telling them tales of mysterious German inventions, against which it was impossible for the Russians to fight. Even before the Revolution, the complete breakdown of the Russian Army had been prepared for by the work of the prisoners. The higher classes of society were corrupted in a subtler way by the love-affairs of the prisoners. There were daughters of Stretensk manufacturers whose lovers had quite brought them round to an anti-Russian and especially anti-English point of view. I met one of these girls later on at Irkutsk, and she was an effective pro-German propagandist. Her talk was filled with sneers against England and Italy, from which I inferred that of her lovers one had been a German and another an Austrian. The women whose husbands were away at the front were the worst. Much was written about it at the time in the newspapers, but no reports ever came near the truth. I do not know if I should call these grass widows cynical, but they certainly made no attempt to keep up appearances. Watching them, I recalled Milioukof’s famous words, “In Russia we lack the binding cement of a common hypocrisy.”
RUSSIAN SOLDIERS
Outwardly, nothing seemed so firmly established and vigorous as the Russian State. The drills went with a swing; on the march the soldiers sang their fiery patriotic songs as only Slavs can sing, and every day closed with the traditional prayers and the solemn music of “God save the Czar.” But there were already indications of the direction events were about to take. The men never concealed from us their hatred of their officers, and in public their officers did not spare one another. There was once to be a review, and we were allowed to watch it. A subaltern superintends the drawing up of the troops and reports to the captain that everything is ready. The captain gives a hasty glance at the men and raps out a terrible Russian oath, which I could not possibly translate. “——,” he said, “can’t you draw up your men better than this?” The adjutant comes, and treats the captain to the same oath; the colonel comes and does the same to the adjutant. Finally, when every one was tense with expectation, the general arrived. The soldiers off duty, anticipating something extraordinary, were watching from all sorts of hiding-places, some peering through the palings of a fence, some mixed up with us, others even had climbed up on to the roofs, and were peeping from behind chimney-stacks. The general took one look at the ranks, and then, in the presence of the assembled troops, hurled at the colonel exactly the same oath that the others had used, following it up with a stream of the coarsest invective. Our guards could scarcely contain their delight, their glee reminded me of children when Father Christmas appears. Afterwards they came to us, exclaiming, “Did you hear the wigging the colonel got? Wasn’t it fine! Isn’t the general a splendid fellow?” Scenes like this explain why it was so easy for the Russian soldiers to turn upon their officers after the Revolution. They had never been taught proper respect.
TURKS AND TARTARS
And then there were the captured Turks with their subject races, the Greeks and Armenians. The more I saw of them, the more enraged I was that the Turks were ever allowed to lord it over nations whose shoe-laces they were not worthy to unloose. The Greeks used to tell us how at home they would be obliged to kow-tow and salaam to the Turks, and with what subtle insults these barbarians would impress on them their inferiority. I lived for nearly two years in the same house with the Turks, and came to know them as is only possible in such circumstances. I found them charming at first, but gradually their character revealed itself as mean, perfidious, cruel, stained with every vileness open to human nature. The Greeks had abilities, range of intellect, strength of character far beyond the reach of the Turks. They were my best pupils, and would compare favourably with any that I have had at Bonn. The common Greek soldier was an ingenious fellow, not afraid of hard work, and he earned a fair living by his talents. The Turkish soldier was backboneless and dull, too lazy to do anything but beg, and he even stooped to accepting alms from Armenians. No solution of the Turkish problem ought to be tolerated which leaves a single Greek under the dominion of the Turks. The Greeks are still a race as gifted as any on the face of the earth; given freedom, it is impossible to foresee what they may make of themselves, and it is a crime against humanity to deliver them over to the repressing rule of the Turk. There are even now newspapers which profess to regard the Turk as a gentleman, and are pleading that he should be spared. Unfortunately the Turks appear to know just what note to strike when appealing to Europe. The interview with the Turkish Crown Prince, that has just appeared in the papers, is a characteristic example of Turkish “slimness.” He deplored the Armenian massacres, had opposed them from the first, everything was the fault of the wicked Germans, and so on. And he probably looked all the while he was saying this as if butter would not melt in his mouth. When I read it I seemed to see the Turks of Stretensk again, their silken accents, their girlish shyness, their faces so lighted up with kindness that they seemed far too good for human nature’s daily food—and leering behind it all unspeakable foulness and corruption. We must harden our hearts and see to it that the friends of the Turk are not listened to again.
Tartar newspapers used to circulate in the camp, and Greeks who could read them told me that they were all written in ironic depreciation of the Russians and the Allies, and by subtly worded phrases they pleaded the Turko-German cause without seeming to do so. The Censor did not see that a dangerous propaganda was being carried on under his nose. There are some millions of Mohammedan Tartars in the Russian Empire, and there is no doubt that these newspapers exercised a powerful influence on them. It appears probable that, even if the Revolution had not broken out, there would have been grave trouble with the Mohammedans in Russian Central Asia.